Rawdah Mohamed On Faith, Fashion, And Forging Her Own Identity
Crusader, champion, and now cover girl, this 34-year-old former refugee is a fashion force unafraid to use her voice
There aren’t many eight-year-olds strong enough to embrace their otherness. Yet when Rawdah Mohamed moved to a tiny town in Norway from her native Somalia, that’s exactly what she did. She refused to conform. “They had identity issues with the way I was. There was a lot of racism,” she recalls surprisingly calmly. “Because everyone hated what I was, I had a strong desire to stay connected to where I came from, because I felt as though they were trying to take away what I was and where I came from.” And that’s when this brave little girl donned her hijab. She forged her own identity. “Back home I would wear it on and off, when I wanted to be a big girl, because I have older sisters. But it wasn’t anything conscious. From eight years old, I would say I was a hijabi.”
It is hard to believe that someone so young could have such a clear vision and such convictions, but Rawdah tells us, “My parents always raised me to be proud of what I am and where I came from. My identity or my background was never anything negative. My mother said they are Norwegian and they have their culture, you’re Somali and you have your culture. You cannot change your skin colour, you cannot change your background, so it’s better to just be you. Cherish your culture.”
Others tried to push her, but she didn’t cower. “When I got extreme hate, I thought, I don’t want to lose myself. I don’t want to, because even if I did take off the hijab, I was still Black. So they were still going to bully me for my skin colour. I saw other Black people in the same camp and they were not wearing the hijab, but they were still bullied. They bullied the boys. They used to try to set the camp on fire. They used to put explosives in our mailboxes, throw trash on us when we were walking. I understood from a young age that they had the issue. It wasn’t us. So I could just be whatever I was, as you could never win with them.” It’s immediately apparent that Rawdah is much more than just a pretty face. She has so much to say about such weighty issues, and is able to articulate her point of view so eloquently. That initial stance – a show of resilience and strength – was a harbinger of things to come. Fast forward and Rawdah, now 34, has taken on the mantle of activist, spokesperson, social-media phenomenon and, of course, Harper’s Bazaar Saudi cover girl.
It feels like a fairytale-come-true. But astonishingly, despite all the hardships she faced, Rawdah always believed this could – rather, would – happen. “There’s always been a lot of hope in my family. A lot of love and hope. When I was outside in the world, it was very negative and quite hateful. But when I came home, it was very loving, and my parents have always supported me. I always loved dressing up. There were a lot of theatrics going on at home, and I had the free space to be whatever character I wanted for that day,” she tells us with a huge smile on her face.
She continues to reminisce, “My parents never told me, ‘Oh, you can’t do this’. There weren’t any restrictions. I grew up with the belief there were no limits to my world. You can be whatever you want to be. There were always discussions, we would watch BBC, Hard Talk. My parents always encouraged people to stand up for themselves and to speak up. So I’ve never been hopeless. I didn’t think the hate that I was getting would live with me. I always thought the world is big and I can make it. I can create my own world, because that’s what my parents did. I always had this mindset from my home; that helped a lot.”
The fashion scene was not a focus in this intellectually fierce environment. “I always thought of it as something backwards,” Rawdah admits candidly. She then explains this rather startling statement: “I grew up being interested in societal issues and how the society should move forward. When I used to look at fashion, they would only have white models, or they would appropriate other people’s culture; I saw that as backwards. When I grew up, I never wanted to be associated with fashion, because fashion was not for me. I just saw it as exploiting African culture and exploiting workers. So I never wanted to be part of that.”
Warming to the theme, the activist in her is in full force when she articulately states her case, “I never used to look at fashion magazines because I don’t need to be looking at a lot of dressed up young white women. It’s ridiculous.” However, there were exceptions that piqued her interest; people that resonated with her. “I love Grace Jones, Iman, models from the ’80s, but those were not my time. And that’s not what the magazines were highlighting when I was growing up. When I was a teenager, it was all about 16-year-old skinny Eastern European models wearing Saint Laurent. I don’t care about that. I wasn’t interested at all.”
A succinct argument for saying representation really does matter. “One hundred per cent it does,” she agrees emphatically. “When I was a teenager, if there were people who looked like me, or there were more Black models – how it is today – I would have started in fashion at a much younger age, and I would have enjoyed fashion and not had this sort of disgust for it. Now you discuss mental health, and representation – there’s more humanity in fashion. We talk about important subjects, but when I was 14 or 15, that was not happening. So it really does matter.”
A young Rawdah looked West, and like so much of the world, found kinship and inspiration in a very different kind of environment. “Growing up in the West, it was so far from Africa. The only culture which seemed to have people who looked like me was the African-American one.” She had six brothers – five of whom were older than her – who “loved hip-hop, and there were all these films and TV shows like The Fresh Prince of Bel Air. So that’s what I grew up with. I always inclined towards Black people. We would also watch Egyptian shows every Ramadan, because they were Muslims and they somewhat looked like me and were entertaining.”
The fact that she devoted herself to pursuing a career in public health made perfect sense. “I wanted to be in the science world, or in health, because I felt that’s where you can improve society.” And that’s when fate stepped in, and diverted her onto a very different path.
Not many people get started in the fashion industry aged 28, but that is exactly what happened. Rawdah clearly had a knack for styling, and wasn’t afraid to express her creativity through her outfits. “Anytime I would go to work, I used to dress up a lot.” Co-workers commented and took note, and from 2018 she started documenting her looks on Instagram. One fine day, during Oslo Fashion Week, photographers started capturing shots of her while she took her lunch break. “‘You don’t have permission to take my photos,’ I shouted at them – I thought they were creeps. Norway is a very small country, we don’t do things like that. They told me about street style photography – I had never heard of it. And he said, ‘You look really good. You’re very stylish. You should go watch the show’. I thought, ‘Why not?’ The PR let me in.” That was when even more photographers descended, her images went viral and the rest is history.
Having a strong sense of self and being able to set boundaries were key to her being able to mould what she wanted from this scene. “I understand why it’s harder for [younger models] to speak up. Because, compared to a 19 year old, I am completely different. I have huge life experience, I had a career before I came into fashion, so I understand professionalism, and I understand where the boundaries are. It is much easier for me to say no. And that’s also why, as a Black, older model, I always feel a sense of responsibility, not just for other hijabis, but also for the youngsters that are coming into the industry. Someone is paving the way for them, someone who doesn’t have a lot to lose. Because if fashion doesn’t work for me, I can always go back to my degree. I can always go back home. I always feel that sense of being like a big sister or auntie, where I have to make sure the environment is much better for the ones that are coming in. When you make it as a model, or you make it in fashion, people will treat you a lot differently than a beginner, right? So I think it is our responsibility to make sure that the new girls are also comfortable, taken care of and not being taken advantage of.” Her maternal nature is also sparked by the teenagers coming into the business. “Whenever I go on set and meet a 16 or 15 year old, I’m very motherly. I give her snacks – because I think, my gosh, you’re close to my daughter’s age, maybe seven, eight years older than her.”
The activism and sense of purpose comes naturally; but was it something that was thrust onto her? “No, it is something that I actively seek. When you’re a refugee, and you’re a woman, and a minority, with a hijab, the world is different to me and my people, right? We have disadvantages. So when I have a space and a platform to speak about the issues that are affecting our community, I think I owe it to them to speak up and to be a voice for what’s going on and the way we’re being treated. I have faced so many misconceptions and discriminations growing up, and what I needed was someone to speak up for me. Whenever there was racist rhetoric going on within the media – some politicians would say something about refugees or immigrants – they were never standing up for us. They would always have these conversations without including the community that were actually being negatively affected. So once I got the attention of the media – I do have the platform that my followers gave me – I felt that urge to speak up. I knew what I was doing. I didn’t just fall into it. I spoke about the issues that were affecting my community.”
It was the French hijab ban that really galvanized her fans. “I had just come from a job in Paris, and I was so annoyed, because we work so hard to work with clients, and there are all these barriers that we have to get through. And once we meet the clients, they understand the hijab, and they understand why this is important, and they want to be inclusive, so we do the job. But then they get backlash from right-wing politicians. That’s not good for business. And I understand that. It was frustrating because I just want to work just like everybody else. Where do you want me to go? I grew up here. And they’re saying, ‘immigrants are not working’. But when we want to work, you exclude us from the society we live in. I thought, you know what? I have this platform. They can pass whatever law they want, but I’m not going to be complicit in it. I am not going down without saying anything. I used my platform. I just took a selfie, and I just wrote “hands off my hijab”, and I went to pick up my child from school.” It was only when her phone started blowing up that she realised that she had struck a chord and awakened a movement, with thousands emulating her post and offering her support. She had an online army behind her.
Though politicians might suffer her wrath, she is gentler on those working in fashion. Her hijabs are immaculately tied; are stylists able to help her? “Oh, I don’t expect them to understand it. It’s better to come with an open mind and be educational; it’s something that we can learn from each other. They’re very kind in terms of always bringing the fabrics that they want to include with the look. We cut them together and put it on. I always find them to be very eager to learn.”
“Of course you want them to just know your make-up, your right foundation tone. You want them to just put the hijab on like they put a shirt on. But we have to be realistic. This is very new, and we are the first hijabi models. I think it’s a very nice learning curve. As Muslims, we have to be open-minded. Even I don’t know all the hijab styles; if you go to Indonesia, they have a different way of wearing a hijab than any other country.”
Her eye-catching outfits are a bit of a signature, with colour playing a key role in her wardrobe, and the structures and hues of Africa feeding into her aesthetic. But she also admits the minimalism of Scandinavia plays its own part. When it comes to labels, “I just like to mix all of them. I think it’s very limited to just go for one brand. I like to mix high-end with whatever I have at home. When it comes to couture, I love Lebanese couture. If I’m going on a red carpet, my first option is always a Lebanese designer, just because I feel they understand the woman’s body. I love Georges Hobeika. When it comes to everyday wear I love Robert Wun, Holzweiler, Dolce & Gabbana, old Givenchy, old YSL, Scandinavian brands. I wear a lot of Danish names.” She is also keen to emphasise that understanding how volume works and how layering works – and understanding your body type – is key to doing modestwear right.
Rawdah’s mostly faceless detractors may be vocal – she has even had death threats – but she’s got plenty of cheerleaders too. “It’s very important to create your own support system, because these are the people who are fighting for you when you’re not in the room. These are the people who are giving me second chances, who believe my cause when others call for me to be ‘cancelled’. You’re always going to get pushback from people who don’t know you, or from PR people who don’t want to work with you. But then there are always these people who see you for what you are. They support you. I have a team who are fighting for me in meetings that I’m not in. Photographers who are willing to shoot with me, constantly pitching me. I have a lot of people who are rooting for me.”
This inspirational role model has come a long way – as has society as a whole. Being on the cover of a magazine is a real pinch-me moment for her. “When I was teenager, I wouldn’t even get a job at fashion stores because I wore the hijab, and they thought I would scare off the customers,” she recalls sadly, perking up as she then lists off highlights like walking the red carpet at the Cannes Film Festival, becoming a face of Sephora, and being approached by countless labels and glossies since she was thrust into the limelight just six short years ago.
Rawdah is adamant that the timing was right for her meteoric rise too, both for herself and for society. “Fashion was not ready for this change 10 years ago. I could not have done it when I was 20. So I think I really came at the right time. It’s much more meaningful to be part of the change. Now the money is in the Middle East. A lot of these brands were quite racist, but now need the Arab money. I love seeing that, because they’re forced to adjust to the Middle East. Watching Arabs hold this power… I love it. Also, the new generation that are working in these places, they’re more culturally sensitive. They understand the layers, and they understand the dynamics. In Paris before, they used to just have a list for Middle East. It didn’t matter if you were Kuwaiti or Emirati or wherever you came from, it was just Middle East. But now, there’s a list for Kuwait. There’s a list for Saudi Arabia. A list for the UAE. They understand it much more, because they have to. And I love seeing that power shift.”
Growing up in the Middle East, the term Third Culture Kid is bandied about a lot. Does Rawdah, who had her daughter when she was just 23, ever feel confused by her identity? Astonished by the question, she immediately answers, “No. I always looked at all these aspects of me as within my identity. I’ve always looked at it as a spread. It’s never been confusing for me. I think I’ve always been secure in who I am as an individual. I’ve always looked at it as making my life richer to have all these different identities. It also means that you can relate to so many other people. I can relate to Muslims, I can relate to women, I can relate to mothers, I can relate to Black people. If I go to Dubai, I have much more in common with Arabs than one of my white colleagues. You just become international, and I love that. I wouldn›t have it any other way.”
Rawdah’s newest passion project is her video and podcast, now recording its second season, with future dream guests being Iman, and “the OG” Halima. T his dynamic, strong spokesperson has found yet another speakerphone to amplify her voice and the world is listening. She’s ticking off one dream at a time, so what advice would she now have for the eight-year-old willing to take a stand? “Just wait till you grow up. Life is exciting. It continues to be freaking exciting. And having that reassurance, is just great.”
Photography: Ricardo Abrahao. Styling: Nour Bou Ezz
Make-Up: Aurelie Dehecq. Nail Technician: Nafissa Djabi. Senior Producer: Steff Hawker. Communications Manager: Johana V. Dana. Styling Assistant: Gabriela Cambero. Lighting Assistant: Faycal Bouhassoun. Retoucher: Victor Wagner
From Harper’s Bazaar Saudi’s Winter 2024 issue